In its own way the kiss had been an act of murder.

It was such an unexpected and genuine smile that if I only had a soul I'm sure I would have felt quite guilty.

This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.

I was filled with dread at the thought my mind had skipped town and left me behind to pay the rent." --Dexter

It's that moon again, slung so fat and low in the tropical night, calling out across a curdled sky and into the quivering ears of that dear old voice in the shadows, the Dark Passenger, nestled snug in the backseat of the Dodge K-car of Dexter's hypothetical soul. That rascal moon, that loudmouthed leering Lucifer, calling down across the empty sky to the dark hearts of the night monsters below, calling them away to their joyful playgrounds.

For my part, my interest in Paris had faded away completely long ago when I learned that it was in France.

But of course, there's no rest for the wicked, which I certainly am; as I said, no rest for the wicked.